Summary:Emma drops by the School to speak with Scott. It's a very cordial discussion. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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There's a file on the desk. It's at least six inches thick. And not the sexy kind of thicc. It's more what Scott had pulled up on his visitor today as the would-be math teacher - erstwise leader of the X-Men is sitting at his desk waiting for Emma to be shown in. Truth be told, he'd probably prefer to work on the homework that's it own file to deal with. The office is a standard faire - wood paneled walls, hardwood floor. A few pictures on the desk - most recently one of him and Jean on a recent date together. He's old-fashioned like that.
As for Emma she was wondering how long it would be before Scott wanted a chat with her, she can only assume he's been busy, or perhaps it simply got lost in the shuffle while she detoxed. Regardless, she makes her way to the man's office, and will wait if need be for admittance. Not like she can't take out a tablet and get some emails handled, after all. If that is not needed however, she'll enter the somewhat spartan office, and take in the details with a casual glance that takes years to perfect. Sapphire eyes then shift to Scott, and she nods. "Mister Summers. I trust all is well?" Obviously there's no need for introductions, they've met after all.
"Miss Frost. Please, have a seat." Of course, the only seats he has to offer right now are a pair of wooden chairs from the classroom. Where are his plush leather seats usually resevered for visitors? Not here at the moment! Once she's seated, Scott returns to his seat and folds his hands in front of him. "I'm not going to beat around the bush, Emma, it's never been my way. You have one student here. What's the end game?" he asks her bluntly.
Emma manages to sit as if the seat were a throne, gracefully settling and crossing one leg over the other rather primly, actually. She's dressed in a very 'vogue' looking pant-suit, white of course and that it is haute coture goes without saying. The suit is actually rather restrained, vastly more so than many outfits Scott has seen her wearing, all in it is a very professional look for the woman and she wears it like armor and with pride, both. "End game, Mister Summers? What conceivable reason would you have for thinking Sharon's fate was a game for me?" The question is not biting, but there's definitely an edge. "She was found by Doctor McCoy, rather than hide that fact he opted to make good on his word to her and find me." There's no menace to her tone, or bearing, but the woman's aura is /powerful/. "He reunited us, and had been caring for her in my absence before I even knew that she was not dead as I had thought."
A moment to compose her thoughts. "I was not in a good way when we first met, I had to deal with some issues, but I am back and eager to see that Sharon gets the very best in anything and everything, and if that means studying here, well, then this is where she'll study."
Her lip curls into a wry smirk. "I could always offer my expertise, I'm a licensed educator, you know. Shall I send you my resume?"
"We don't have any openings at the moment." Bald-face lie, but the great thing about Scott? You can never ever read his eyes. His hands do flex a little tighter together though. "But I hear the Obsidian Club is always hiring." It's said with a flat and dry tone that is just full of bite in return. "I'm not a fan of the 'I found her, can I bring her home' bit, Emma." he says finally as he drums his fingers on the desk.
"How many other of your kids will we find? Manuel? James? Jennifer? Angelica?"
He rattles off the names and shakes his head. "I don't believe in coincidences. And I don't think it's coincidence that your most feral member was found by Beast. I hope, I pray that I'm wrong. But if I turn out to be right…" he leaves the rest of that in the air for the moment.
"Really, Mister Summers? No openings, with Doctor McCoy teaching several classes, I believe there's a Werewolf teaching survival, clearly you must be in charge of social graces, at least do me the courtesy of speaking honestly. I am one of the most powerful telepaths in the world, even without trying to read you, you should know better than to lie to me." Okay, NOW there's some bite!
Settling back in the hard, stiff seat, she manages - somehow - to lounge. "As to the Obsidian Club, that is high praise from you, you should really take a moment to consider exactly how difficult a task it is to be a dancer. It is a very demanding, grueling, and often painful profession. You dismiss hard work, dedication and artistry because you're aware that I had done it in the past, now you're just being petty."
Amusement fades abruptly at the mention of the other Hellions, and he'd feel the full weight of her gaze, sapphire eyes locked on him like helium lasers. "I don't know, I suppose it depends on how many of them your allies managed to kill, wouldn't it?" Her voice is a toxic purr as she asks, the venom razor delivered.
And then she sighs, eyes closing as she presses long fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Perhaps a different tack, Mister Summers - summon a telepath you trust, I will permit a /second/ scan, a /second/ 'vetting', if you will. I truly thought my daughter, my precious Sharon, was dead until Doctor McCoy brought her forth."
"I don't need a second telepath." Scott rumbles slightly. "You twisted, turned, and made those children into your personal little army - and then sent them out. They were stopped. We're not going to let you repeat that here." In this case, it's the Emperical 'We', because he really means 'I ain't letting it happen'. "You can hide behind the snark and humor, Emma, but I don't trust you. And while you may have Sharon and any of the others that survived - something that /you/ caused, if I may be so bold to remind you - will be welcomed here to make sure that they are properly cared for, your presence is /tolerated/ and not welcomed."
"There, was that honest enough for you, Emma?" he asks her dryly. "If you're sincere about cleaning up and turning over a new leaf, good luck. But right now, the less I see of you in these halls, the better I will about the students here, and the less I will worry about your influence on them."
"Prove me wrong."
"Mister Summers…" Emma's gaze hardens further, orders of magnitude harder than a diamond drill bit. "…you really should try to be a bit more civil to a guest." She purrs, and then her will extends, every muscle in Scott's body not needed to sustain his life frozen, utter paralysis wrapped in a silken sheath of Emma's power.
She bares her teeth, the expression nothing even remotely close to a smile as she leans very close, her eyes bare inches from his visor, making eye contact somehow even though they cannot be seen. "As a courtesy, and a sign of my good faith, I will give you this one warning, Scott. Do. Not. Ever. Again…not /ever/, accuse me of harboring my former students as weapons against this school. I cannot deny that I made mistakes in the past. BUT…you are not pristine, the murderous thugs sent to capture my former students were far from exemplars of purity and goodness." She turns then, adjusting the hang of her jacket, hand bag tucked in against her side as she speaks over a shoulder without looking at Scott. "But…the sign of good faith…I could have done /far/ worse to you, just now. Know this, and remember it for when next we meet."
Done with what she had to say, Emma walks out at a good pace, releasing Scott as she does so. "I'll show myself out, thank you for your hospitality and welcome, as legendary as ever."
If Scott could get his glasses off, he'd let Emma know exactly how he feels about her little outburst. Held into place, Scott's lip is bitten into as she gives her spiel and turns around to storm out. After her, he snorts and calls out, "The poor pitiful me act doesn't work on everyone, Emma." he snaps to her in irritation.
"And next time we meet, I won't have the coffee pot on for you." he grumbles as she struts out. How easy it would be to blast her in her butt and send her flying.
But Scott's being /cordial/.